


carpe noctem

by aclusterofstars



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M, harry is marrying ste, james still loves harry, kyle still loves james, not the happiest of endings, this is just james being emotional in the middle of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclusterofstars/pseuds/aclusterofstars
Summary: he gets the first text at midnight, the next one a minute later. james nightingale, the screen reads, and kyle's heart hurts.





	carpe noctem

**Author's Note:**

> carpe noctem // seize the night.

he gets the first text at midnight, the next one a minute later.  **james nightingale** , the screen reads, and kyle's heart hurts.  
  
_Are you awake?_  
  
_?_  
  
perfect grammar, perfect spelling—james always types as though he's writing a document of law, context irrelevant. he picks up the phone to reply. puts it down.  _it's not for you_ , his mind whispers, treacherous in its autonomy,  _it was never for you_. and he supposes it's right but still—  
  
it hurts.  
  
_I can see you've read these, Kyle._  
  
_kyle._  his throat closes, fear and confusion and  _hope_ threatening to choke him.  _not you not you notyouneveryou_ his mind whispers at him, and he slams his palm against his forehead. "shut up," he mumbles, and he doesn't know whether that's to himself or to james.  
  
**why are u texting me** he deletes, as well as  **u said i was pathetic** and  **what about harry**. his fingers are sweating, his palms betraying him.  **yes im awake** he manages, and sends it before he can regret it.  
  
and then there's nothing.

—

he's almost asleep when james texts again, the chime muffled against his pillow. it's ten to one.  
  
_Come over_ , the text says, and nothing else.  _he's drunk_ , the voice tells him, smug with self-assurance, and kyle taps the screen with his nails. what's left of them, that is. kyle hadn't bitten his nails since high school, until sami maalik turned up in his life and things started to go wrong. his phone chimes again.  
  
_I'll pay._  
  
oh, kyle thinks. right. of course. he doesn't know what else he expected, really.

—

if nancy were awake she'd tell him not to, and nancy's like him except smarter, stronger, better. he trusts nancy more than he trusts himself, and he knows she'd be right. she always is, after all, even on that first day when she saw him and james in the cafe and pulled kyle to the side, whispering furiously into his ear.  
  
"and just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"it's a cafe, nancy. i presume you've been to a cafe before?"  
  
"don't act dumb with me, kyle, you know full well what i meant. james nightingale? really?"  
  
and even though it's just an act (because james nightingale is  _so_  not kyle's type) he feels defensive. "we've been over for twenty years, nance, now isn't the time to get jealous—"  
  
"james nightingale is twisted, kyle! he's sick! even you have to see that. he destroys people's lives, and he  _enjoys_  it. what he did to john paul—"  
  
"john paul?"  
  
and nancy tells him, all the gruesome details, about ste and the car and the cliff. over her shoulder, james catches his eye. and smiles.

—

so nancy would tell him not to and darren would tell him not to and kyle is telling himself not to, but he's already pulling his shirt on and there's nobody there to stop him. his phone chimes again ( _I'm waiting._ ) and briefly, just briefly, kyle thinks about going back to bed, ignoring the texts, letting james wait for him for once, instead of kyle always being the one trying to catch up. but kyle's never been all that good at resisting.

—

it takes him half as long as it should to get to james' apartment, and he flushes when he realizes, despite the bitter wind tearing at his skin. he came out without a jacket, without a phone, without a wallet—his shirt is buttoned up wrong and he moves to undo it before stopping.  _this is stupid_ , his mind tells him,  _pointless_ ,  _why would james ever want to see you? you're pathetic_ —and kyle slams his hand onto the doorbell. "shut up," he mutters, "shut upshutupshutup—"  
  
"kyle." james is in dark jeans and a long-sleeved top and if kyle wasn't in love with him already he would be now and  _oh_ ,  _god_ , he thinks.  _save me_.  
  
james gives him a tight smile. he doesn't look drunk, not at all, but even from outside the apartment kyle can smell the alcohol. he looks sombre. "care for a drink?"

—

kyle's on his second drink when james moves, uncurling himself from his chair to the sound of bottles clinking. it doesn't look like he's cleaned in weeks—the floor is covered in litter, bottles and bags and paper, and the room smells of alcohol and sweat. it doesn't look like he's opened a window in weeks, either. but then james is standing in front of him, towering over him, and he unbuttons kyle's top with graceful hands. it's everything kyle's dreamed about, since sami paid him to leave, and then—

and then james takes him by the wrist and pulls him to the bedroom, and kyle tries not to notice how his face is still grave.

—

they lie in silence, afterwards, james staring into space in the expensive gloom of his bedroom. he has a cut on his lip, kyle had noticed it earlier, but it wasn't from him.  _harry_ , he thinks, and it feels like a kick to his stomach. james hasn't said anything to him for an hour, has sat there in silence since kyle tried to kiss him and james had turned his head away and said " _no_ , kyle." he should have left by now, he thinks, but he makes no attempt to move, just stares at james' pale, scarred skin in the near-darkness.  
  
(kyle knows these scars, has kissed these scars—he knows parts of james that nobody else knows, and it gives him a brief flash of pride before—)  
  
"harry," james says, softly.  
  
(of course, kyle thinks, harry. harry knows these scars.)  
  
"wrong person, i'm afraid," he says instead, trying for a smile, almost managing it.  
  
"his wedding's tomorrow."  
  
and of course, of course, kyle should have realized. he should have known. the wedding's tomorrow. harry chose ste instead of james, and that should make him happy, but then a car's headlights shine through the window and james' face is defeated, tired, lost, and it just doesn't. this isn't the james nightingale he knows.  
  
"i'm sorry."  
  
"you're not," james says, voice dull. he looks like he's going to say something else, but he can only repeat himself. "you're not."  
  
outside, the clock chimes two.

—

"he told me he loved me."  
  
kyle's almost asleep, treading the line between wakefulness and the abyss. "what?"  
  
"harry," james says, and it's like kyle's not even there. "he told me he loved me. he told me he wanted to  _be_  with me."  
  
_i want to be with you_ , kyle almost says, but he's not stupid. "maybe he does."  
  
james continues like he hasn't spoken, forcing his words out of his mouth. "i. . ." james nightingale doesn't do affection, he doesn't do love, until it's the early hours of the morning and he has nothing left to lose. "loved him. i still love him." and kyle knows this, but it still hurts, hurts the way it did the first time he noticed it, how james was in love with harry in a way that he was never in love with him.  
  
he touches james' arm, and james doesn't push him away.

—

the clock chimes three.

—

"this was a mistake," james whispers, and his voice is thick. he might have been crying, but it's james nightingale, and the nightingale family does not cry, even if they have been.  
  
and kyle's voice is almost unintelligible. "i know."  
  
they sit in silence, watching the window. cars pass by every so often, illuminating the room with a semi-golden light. there's a top hung up on the back of the door, pinkish-red in the car's headlamps, something that james would never wear.  _harry._  
  
"why are you here?" james asks, eventually, catching his eyes. and kyle should leave now, right now, but james' eyes are magnetic and he has never been able to resist them.  
  
"i seem to recall that you were the one who invited me."  
  
a car lights up the room and james' face looks defenceless, open, in a way that kyle has never seen before.  _and never will again_ , his treacherous mind tells him,  _you're pathetic. remember?_  
  
as if on cue, james looks down. "after what i said, i was surprised you didn't ignore me," and kyle doesn't know what to say, because this is as much of an apology as james will ever give him.  
  
"my expensive tastes won't pay for themselves," he manages eventually, twisting the duvet in his hands.  
  
"we both know that's not the reason."  
  
kyle starts to stand up, grabbing his top from the end of the bed. "sorry, james, time's up."  
  
"kyle."  
  
"maybe next time."  
  
"kyle."  
  
"look, if you'd have told me you were going to give me the spanish inquisition i might have thought twice about coming over." james almost smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, and kyle's heart hurts. "you know why i'm here, james."  
  
"i don't love you."  
  
"you think i don't know that?" kyle laughs, pulling his shirt over his head, teeth glinting in the light from a car. "everybody told me, you know. when i was with you. nancy spent hours talking about how you were using me, manipulating me,  _destroying_ me like you did to john paul—"  
  
james flinches, barely perceptible in the dark. "you don't know anything about john paul."  
  
"go on, then." kyle smiles, but he knows it doesn't reach his eyes. "because nancy told me everything about that, how you drove a car off a cliff because he just wasn't all that into you—" james grimaces, anger twisting his features.  
  
"i  _loved_  john paul."  
  
"then why is he in singapore? why did he have to travel half-way across the world to get away from you?"  
  
"because he slept with ste!" the words fly like needles into the air. "because i was always second to ste!"  
  
kyle blinks, stops. "i'm— nancy never told me—"  
  
"of course she didn't," james spits, and the shutters are down on his face. it's pure nightingale malice, now, pure and deadly. "i'm the bad man, kyle. i always have been. i'm twisted and sick and i have never been first with anybody in my entire life, and when i finally thought i could be somebody else, be  _good_  for once in my life . . ." kyle can almost see the anger fading away, drifting off in tendrils into the night. "we were engaged. i wanted to marry him." he closes his eyes. "i thought he wanted to marry me, too."  
  
"i didn't know," kyle says, quiet in the darkness.  
  
"of course you didn't." james laughs, bitter and sharp and sad. "second to ste hay. it's becoming a theme."  
  
"you were first with me." a lump in his throat threatens to choke him. "you were always first with me." he waits for james to say something, anything, but there's only silence as he struggles into his jeans. "goodbye, james."  
  
"kyle."  
  
and he turns back, even now, because james nightingale has a hold over him in a way that sami maalik never did. "yeah?"

"your money's on the table."  
  
he almost takes it, almost, because this is the last time he's ever going to be in this flat and he wants something, anything, to remember it by.  
  
but it wasn't about the money. it hasn't been for a long, long time.  
  
the door clicks shut behind him.

—

outside, the clock chimes four.

**Author's Note:**

> fin.


End file.
